


pound for pound, blow for blow

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [31]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Recreational Violence, little beasts, the everyone is fucked up verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-22 11:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4832951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>He says pound for pound, blow for blow / You’re the most messed up mother-fucker I know.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	pound for pound, blow for blow

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [here then gone again](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4784231) by [likewinning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likewinning/pseuds/likewinning). 



> As always, thanks to my favoritest girl likewinning for letting me playing around in her [little beasts](http://archiveofourown.org/series/271950) 'verse.

"Hit me," Tim hops up off the bed and says, eyes wide and black, his black button up shirt open, showing off tight little abs that Roy snorted coke off of half an hour ago. 

Roy laughs him off but then Tim's hauling him off the bed -- he's way fucking stronger than he looks -- and Roy's standing opposite of him, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers he's had so long you can practically see through them. 

"Tim," he laughs again, gets distracted by the way the noise feels in his throat, then Tim's shoving him and Roy stumbles back almost falls on his ass.

"Don't be a pussy," Tim says, grinning with teeth, like a shark out for blood. “Hit me.”

"I'm not _hitting_ you, jesus christ you freak --"

Then Tim's all up on him, one hand on Roy’s hip and Roy can feel the tiny trail of hairs below Tim's navel scratching against his own skin, can feel Tim’s tongue trace the shell of his ear, right before he feels his _teeth._

"Come on," he says in this low, hot voice that makes goosebumps break out up and down Roy's arms. "Hit me. I _want_ you to." 

Roy pulls back and looks at him, sees how completely, terrifyingly fucked up his eyes are, and he's starting to think maybe giving Tim coke wasn't the best idea. "Why don't you --"

Tim sighs and before Roy can react Tim catches him right in the mouth, nearly knocking one of his fucking _teeth_ loose.

"Mother _fucker_ ," Roy says and it might be all the blow or it might just be instincts kicking in, but he responds before he can think better of it, clocks Tim right in the jaw and realizes the only good thing about doing this while he's higher than a fucking space station is that he can't feel it when he breaks two of his knuckles on Tim's face.

Tim just laughs, spits blood on the carpet, his eyes bright and dark and _gorgeous_ and Roy's ready for it this time but he doesn’t try to block it, just laughs between gasps for air after Tim's fist slams into his gut. 

They go like that for Roy doesn't know how long, trading blow for blow until they’re both a bloody mess, until Tim pushes Roy down on the carpet and gets the rest of his clothes off, sits on Roy’s dick without any prep at all and wraps his hands around Roy’s throat as he throws his head back and rides him. 

Tim’s still a little slick from when they fucked earlier, after the pills but before the coke, but not very much. Between the fucking tight friction of Tim’s ass and Tim’s bony little fingers squeezing around his throat, Roy comes so hard he actually blacks out.

When he comes to, Tim’s lying next to him, chest and belly streaked with his own come, and he’s humming, Roy’s pretty sure, _Call Me, Maybe._

“I swear to god,” Roy says, crawling between Tim’s legs, leaning over him to lick the mess off of his skin. “You are the most messed-up motherfucker I know.”

Tim leans up on his elbows to watch Roy’s tongue dart out over his skin, reaches down to touch the three matching lines on each side of Roy’s throat where his fingers had been and Roy looks up and sees the expression on his face, something like uncertainty wrinkling his forehead. 

“That’s a compliment, by the way,” Roy says, swirling his tongue around Tim’s nipple. 

Tim doesn’t smile, not really, but it’s close enough. “Good.”


End file.
